


Asymptote

by renquise



Series: Asymptote [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, gratuitous use of video game mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renquise/pseuds/renquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a part of Engineer that gets almost anxious when Spy fades from sight, invisible and untouchable.  It’s almost enough to make a man question his own senses, really—there’s just something off-putting about reaching out to touch something that you know can’t be touched, only to see it disappear in front of your eyes, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asymptote

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: "You know how you pass through your teammates in-game? What if that extended to their interactions outside of battle? Relationships would be limited to watching each other wank, or you'd have to take up with the members of the opposite team."

It’s been awhile, but Engineer can still remember the first day he had arrived, stepping off the train with his beat-up little suitcase, one side tied together with string, since the latch had broken on the way there.

Medic and Spy were there to greet him, their blue uniforms stark against the sand and dust. He spared a glance towards the train as it rattled off again, sweeping up a trail of dust in its wake.

He reached up to tip his helmet at them, saying, “I’m Engineer, I suppose. It’s good to meet you folks,” and extended his hand towards them for a handshake.

Medic nodded at him curtly. “You as well. I’m Medic, and this is Spy. You’ll be meeting the rest of us back at the base, I believe,” he said as he turned on his heel and led the way back to base, his hands neatly clasped behind his back.

For an awkward moment, Engineer stood with his hand hanging in the air.

Spy raised his eyebrows, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. “Well, it’s good to meet you,” he said, and finally reached out to shake Engineer’s hand. As he curled his fingers forward, Engineer expected to feel his fancy leather gloves, smooth against his palm.

And felt nothing but the dry, hot air of the desert.

Spy laughed as Engineer snatched his hand back from where it had sunk straight through Spy’s very solid-looking hand. His mouth hanging open, Engineer clenched and unclenched his hand, trying to figure out if he’d simply hallucinated something, the heat getting to him already.

“You’ll get used to it, laborer,” Spy said, still chuckling and snorting a bit as he turned towards the buildings in the distance.

 

The thing is, you did, really—by the end of the week, Engineer had already stopped flinching out of the way when Heavy made to stride right through him with guns ablaze, and now, it’s just part and parcel of the job.

He can’t quite explain how it works, which frustrates him, to some extent—he’s used to being able to break things down into their component parts and piece together their inner workings. Regardless, it becomes second nature to shoot straight through his teammates, or to test for Spies by passing a hand through a teammate’s arm. They all joke about what’s going to happen once they get back to the real world and try to stride straight through people on the street.

Engineer isn’t really a touchy-feely sort of guy, but he hadn’t realized how often he slapped a friend on the back in congratulations or tapped someone on the shoulder to get their attention, gestures that now leave his hand waving awkwardly in midair. As time goes on, he’s picked up the habit of whistling one sharp, piercing tone to get Demoman to turn towards him or to get Medic’s attention when he’s hunched over an anatomy book.

They all have their little tells, really, and you can’t live in close proximity with eight other men without noticing these kinds of things.

Scout always forgets—it must come from being from a family full of boys used to kicking and punching and whaling on each other at every occasion. He still goes in for a celebratory high-five at the end of matches—most of the time, now, he just laughs as their hands pass through each other, but every so often, he still stumbles forward a step. On one memorable occasion, he’d tried to leap onto Heavy’s back and put him in a headlock, and had ended up falling a good two stories or so when he’d passed right through and careened off the roof. It was a good thing the boy was pretty darn resilient.

As much as he barrels through people on the battlefield, Heavy always turns his massive shoulders sideways to squeeze past people in the narrow corridors underneath the base—evidently a lifelong habit born of manoeuvring in spaces not intended for a man his size.

After hours, they generally try to respect the conventional boundaries of their bodies for politeness’s sake, which suits Engineer just fine. Pyro seems to ignore this unspoken social rule, his arm swishing through Engineer’s chest when he accompanies his slightly-garbled stories with his usual enthusiastic hand gestures. Soon enough, Engineer learns to interpret these gestures as some weird sign of camaraderie, Pyro cheerfully waving a hand through his shoulder as he passes by.

When he pulls out his guitar in the evenings, Demoman often tries to loop a hand over his shoulder to forcibly drag him into a drunken chorus of “Braes o’ Killiecrankie”; depending on how many Engineer’s had, Engineer usually obliges him, though after a certain point, the singing’s most likely to dissolve into another discussion regarding the viability of adding a grenade launcher to the improved sentry he’s working on.

Engineer has to admit that there are aspects of the situation that he doesn’t mind. For one thing, it definitely discourages teammates from the temptation of using his helmet as an armrest. Also, Soldier’s peculiar brand of camaraderie gets a little less intimidating when his emphatic chest-prodding finger slips straight through Engineer’s chest.

Like Engineer, Sniper’s fond of his personal space; it’s only the end of matches that catches him occasionally, when he walks up with a cheerful “’Ey, good work out there, Truckie,” and a hand out for a polite handshake, only to give an embarrassed grin and tip his hat, instead.

Even Medic, who’s been here just as long as Heavy and Soldier, trips up from time to time. Every so often, Engineer still notices him reaching for the wrist for a pulse when he heals someone in the field, or moving to pull clothing away in order to examine a wound more closely.

Spy—Spy, though, is curiously immaterial, self-contained, his suit crisp and neat no matter how much dust is getting kicked up by sentry fire. He doesn’t seem to make the fumbles that most of them do. Sure, he gets killed and maimed the same as the rest of them, so it’s not as if he’s completely untouchable, and god knows his accent should be obnoxious enough to make his presence clear in Engineer’s mind, but—

But there’s a part of Engineer that gets almost anxious when Spy fades from sight, invisible and untouchable. It’s almost enough to make a man question his own senses, really—there’s just something off-putting about reaching out to touch something that you know can’t be touched, only to see it disappear in front of your eyes, too.

Then again, he’s always been partial to the more physical aspects of things. Math’s beautiful on its own, but it’s especially lovely when it manifests itself in a perfectly-timed ammo feed or a calibrated teleporter, abstract beauty arrested in a tangible object.

So it’s just part of the job.

 

It’s another hot day, and Engineer can’t help but savor the slight chill of a breeze down his neck as he tightens a bolt on his dispenser. At the next light gust of air, though, he tenses, and then turns with the next breath, his wrench swinging through the air, expecting it to impact satisfyingly on RED Spy’s skull. Instead, it whooshes right through, and all he gets is Spy fading into sight and laughing.

“A little high-strung today, aren’t we? Well, perhaps not high-strung enough—if I had been RED, I believe you’d be headed back to respawn this very second with a knife lodged in your back.”

“Ain’t you got better things to do than sneakin’ around and givin’ your own team heart attacks?” Engineer says, turning back to his dispenser.

Spy shrugs and flips open his disguise kit, drawing out a cigarette. “Heavy and Medic are locking up that last point right now with Soldier—I believe it’s going to be an early day. Besides, I think my time would be better spent watching your back for you, since you cannot seem to do it for yourself.”

“Well, that’s mighty noble of you,” says Engineer, raising an eyebrow at him.

“You should appreciate it more, mon cher—chivalry’s in short supply these days,” Spy responds with a smirk.

“You know, I would remind you that you seem to be mistakin’ me for a lady, but somehow, I doubt it would make much of a difference,” Engineer sighs.

Spy gestures with his cigarette. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

Engineer takes a breath to make a smart-ass remark right back at him, but it’s cut short as his eyes widen and he grabs his shotgun from where it’s propped up beside his dispenser, firing off a volley of shots towards Spy.

Spy flinches, fumbling his cigarette, but he doesn’t turn around as the RED Spy collapses behind him, his knife dropping into the dust.

Engineer ejects the spent cartridge from his shotgun pointedly.

“Well, merci,” says Spy, after a pause, drawing another cigarette out of his disguise kit and lighting it before offering the case towards Engineer.

Engineer can’t resist smirking at him as he plucks a cigarette out and leans towards Spy, who lights it with a flick of his lighter.

For one disorienting moment, he can’t tell if the warmth he feels is Spy’s fingers, close to his, or the flame.

Engineer’s not much of a smoker, but he finds himself sharing a cigarette with Spy again, late one night. Their fingers overlap when he carefully hands off the cigarette and waits for that moment when he knows that Spy’s fingers are settled on it before letting go.

 

He seems to find Spy basking in the glow of his dispenser far more often than strictly necessary, these days. Engineer can’t find it in himself to complain, through. Company’s company, and Spy is good conversation, to boot. Engineer crosses his arms over his dispenser, idly running his hand over its surface.

This time, when he hears a whispered “Bonjour, Engineer” at his nape, he almost doesn’t jump. Almost. “Spy, one of these days, I’m gonna…”

“Bash my head in with that wrench of yours?” Spy finishes for him with a chuckle. “Unlikely, I’m afraid.” Spy crosses one foot over the other to lean on the dispenser—and falls straight through, of course.

He’s rather proud of himself for not laughing at the disgruntled look on Spy’s face. “You all right down there, partner?” he says, instead, offering him a hand up—and then pulling his hand back when he realizes that it probably wasn’t going to be much help.

“Yes, yes, merci,” Spy says with a scowl, standing up and brushing dust off his suit.

Engineer can’t help but grin a bit at Spy, ruffled and indignant as a wet cat. “Your tie’s askew,” he says. “Not very dashing, that.”

Spy fixes his tie in a brisk, practised motion. “Well, do I pass muster, now? After all, I have an image to keep up, unlike the rest of you philistines.”

“Better. Wait, you’ve got something—“ Engineer gestures to his own cheek, and Spy mirrors him, passing a thumb over his cheekbone. “No, no, other side, and up a bit.” Engineer’s got his bare hand inches away from Spy’s face before he realises what he’s doing and aborts his attempt to wipe off the smudge of dust. Instead, he points, his finger hovering above Spy’s mask, and Spy swipes the dust off with the tip of his finger.

“Well, merci,” Spy says, after an awkward pause. “I’d best go and—“ he gestures vaguely towards the sound of gunfire, and disappears. Engineer follows the soft, rolling sound of his feet over gravel until it fades away, too.

He’s a little distracted for the rest of the afternoon, preoccupied by rubbing the fingers of his bare hand together and wondering what he would have felt.

 

It probably wasn’t the best idea to indulge in a few cases of beer up on the roof when they can’t even catch each other before they stumble over the edge, but it’s such a nice night out that they simply couldn’t resist.

They’re all a little tipsy. Engineer can’t deny that. He catches himself on his hand as he slumps sideways, somehow expecting to rest his head on Demo’s shoulder and instead falling right through. Demoman laughs and reaches out to try and right him, only laughing more when his hands pass through Engineer’s arm.

Eventually, everyone trickles back downstairs, Heavy hovering a little at Medic’s shoulder when Medic weaves a little. (Medic attempts to bat his hands away with an “Honestly, Heavy, there is no need for this,” but it comes out a little less sharply than his usual battlefield instructions.) When even Sniper yawns and heads back downstairs with a wave, it’s just him and Spy lying on the roof. It’s dark out, but he can see the glowing cherry on the end of Spy’s cigarette, casting a warm glow on his face when he takes a drag.

Spy has his jacket off and his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, and Engineer can feel the heat coming off of Spy’s skin when he lies beside him, their arms close. It’s enough to make him want to reach out those few inches more, but he doesn’t want to disturb the glow of contentment curling in his belly, something to do with the pleasant haze of alcohol, the still night, and the warm, solid body beside his.

When Spy turns his head towards him, Engineer instinctively tilts his head sideways and leans in, expecting their noses to bump up against each other, the roughness of chapped lips—the little things in kisses that ground them to reality. But there’s nothing, not even the touch of skin or the fabric of Spy’s balaclava. A moment later, Spy pulls back with a laugh. “Well, that simply won’t work, will it,” he says, and Engineer can’t help but chuckle, too, because he’s never had to worry about his partners becoming immaterial before, and it’s just the darndest thing.

Spy shifts closer to him. “I—Stay there,” he says, a strange hesitation in his voice. “Just stay still. You can manage that, oui?”

It’s the strangest kiss he’s ever had, with none of the hot slickness of tongue or the dry softness of a simple press of lips—just their mouths, so, so close, breathing each other’s air. He can feel the barest bit of heat when Spy brushes his cheek by his—still not touching, just there. At the angle of his jaw, there’s a hint of his fancy French cologne, a subtle, dark scent in the hollow under the edge of bone.

Engineer brings his hand up to cup Spy’s face, almost touching, but not quite, his thumb stroking down the line of his cheekbone. Carefully, like he’s placing a delicate connection in a ‘porter. He should be clumsier, alcohol slurring his movements, but something about the near-touch of Spy’s lips had brought the world into sharp focus, the soft blur of drunkenness gone and replaced with an electric awareness. It should feel absolutely ridiculous—two grown men not-quite-touching in utter silence—but somehow, it’s gripping, so close and yet so far from touch.

When he pulls back a bit, he can see Spy’s eyes fall closed. Spy seems to tilt his head into Engineer’s hand ever so slightly before freezing still, a bare breath away from the pads of Engineer’s fingers.

Engineer can feel his breathing quicken when Spy slowly places his hand over his and turns his mouth into the hollow of Engineer’s palm. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Spy’s mouth, and god, he just wants to grab at Spy’s neatly-pressed collar and muss him up, to fit his hands around the curve of Spy’s skull and bring him that last inch closer.

Spy drags his mouth back to meet Engineer’s, hovering, and if Engineer closes his eyes, he can almost feel something.

 

Spy avoids him for days after that, enough to make him believe that he’d somehow imagined it. Sometimes, he can see a shimmer at the edge of his vision when he’s building a sentry, and his breath catches in his throat. There’s a part of him that wonders when he had gotten so attuned to that slight sheen of color hanging in the air. The sound of decloaking speeds his pulse every time now, and he knows it should be mostly in readiness for RED’s Spy. But he can’t deny that there’s a part of him that hopes that he’ll turn around to see a familiar blue suit and that damn smirk, that deliberate cant to his hips.

Pyro makes a curious noise when he waves a hand through Engineer’s shoulder, making his usual spychecking rounds. Engineer gives him a smile and a thumbs-up, waving off his concern.

When Engineer thinks of Spy and feels the sudden, sharp need to touch, he can almost fool himself into thinking that it’s a matter of missing skin contact when he’s out in the field with team. Basic human needs, that’s all.

If he’s honest with himself, there’s simply more to it than that—he wants to grasp Spy and wrench him out of insubstantiality, to jostle him out of his faint aloofness and secure him to reality by his bare hands. It’s like the best kind of difficult math, an infuriating and enticing puzzle, the kind where Engineer won’t be satisfied until it comes unravelled into the neat lines of a blueprint.

He’s never wanted to touch something so much.

 

When Spy finally comes to him, it’s with that familiar gust of breath at the back of his neck. “Engineer.”

He twists around, the movement familiar, especially with the weight of his wrench in his hand. Spy doesn’t flinch, though—just backs up slightly, his back to the barn wall, and that small gesture of trust makes Engineer drop his wrench, hands thumping on wood as he pins Spy to the wall behind him, breathing hard.

There’s just his arms bracketing Spy’s body against the wall. Spy could escape at any time—slip through his arm and disappear into the hot desert air with only the barest shimmer—but instead, he leans against the wall and gives Engineer a long, considering look. He’s letting himself be caught, and that realization makes Engineer’s mouth go dry.

Spy looks entirely unconcerned, taking a drag of his cigarette and holding in the smoke for a moment before turning his head to the side and blowing it out. “Well then, what were you planning to do now?”

Engineer can feel his face flushing, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to articulate anything halfway intelligent—what had he planned to do, anyways? “I. Ah.”

Raising an eyebrow, Spy leans in to brush his mouth close to his ear. “Hm. I would recommend that you figure that out, mon cher. By this evening, preferably.”

It’s only when Engineer pulls his arm back that Spy steps away, brushing by him.

 

That evening, he sits down with a set of blueprints for a new sentry, trying to distract himself, but he can’t seem to concentrate properly, fumbling elementary calculations, his writing even more scrawled than usual.

There’s a smart rap on his bedroom door, and when he opens it, Spy is leaning on the doorjamb, one of his hands slipped into his pocket. “May I come in?”

Engineer grins at him, nervousness and something hot and pressing twining in his belly. “Make yourself at home.”

Spy is immaculately dressed, as usual—crisp white cuffs peeking out from his jacket sleeves, collar pressed, and his tie knotted into a neat Windsor.

“Now, tell me what you’d like off.”

Engineer likes to think of himself as a fairly eloquent man, but Spy keeps on catching him without words. He seats himself on the edge of his bed, trying to get his bearings. “Wanna run that past me again?”

Spy shrugs. “I thought I’d been rather straightforward, but I might have been mistaken. Should I rephrase it?” Spy looks straight into his eyes. “Tell me what items of clothing I am currently wearing that you would like to see removed.”

“Shucks—well, you know.” Engineer makes a vague gesture towards Spy’s chest.

Spy runs a hand down the pressed line of his jacket. “You really need to be more specific,” he says with a grin. He toys with the edge of his cuff, a movement that would have looked nervous on anyone else, but on him only succeeds in coming off as an indication that he’s willing to wait, thank you. Engineer licks his lips nervously and shifts in his seat.

“Your suit jacket, if y’ please,” he says, at last.

“Reasonable enough,” Spy says with a smirk, moving to unbutton the jacket and draping it over Engineer’s worktable. “What next?”

“Cufflinks?” Engineer gestures at his cuffs, and Spy twists the cufflinks off in a deft movement, dropping the sleek silver affairs onto the table with a click. Without them, Spy’s sleeves droop open at his wrists, a sliver of skin framed by the edge of his gloves.

“Your belt, now,” he says, eyes drawn to that patch of bare skin. The belt joins the cufflinks, coiled into a neat curl. “Tie?”

“You’re being dreadfully methodical about this, mon cher,” Spy says as he tilts his chin up to loosen the knot.

“’Fraid methodical’s what you’re going to get with an engineer,” Engineer responds.

Spy tilts his head, as if considering this. “Fair enough, I suppose,” he says with a dramatic sigh, draping his tie over Engineer’s work chair. “Mon dieu, what was I thinking. I’ll be asleep before we get anywhere below the belt area.”

“Shut up, Spy, and take off that fancy waistcoat,” Engineer says, and he can’t quite keep that grin back, especially when the corner of Spy’s mouth quirks in response.

It’s slow and unhurried—waistcoat, dress shirt—each piece of clothing coming off with the slither of fine fabric. Spy stands deliberately just out of Engineer’s reach—shoes, socks—but close enough that Engineer thinks that if he leaned forward and reached out, he could run a hand over the flexing muscle of Spy’s belly when he stretches up to take off his undershirt. A thrill of electricity courses up Engineer’s spine with each word that passes his lips, Spy playing along with each of his suggestions with his usual aplomb, only occasionally commenting on the way that Engineer’s face seems to be attempting to match RED’s uniforms.

When Spy steps out of his pants, he doesn’t even bother to drape them over a piece of furniture, his movements no longer as fluid and controlled as they had been. Engineer can see Spy’s chest rising and falling, his mouth slightly open, and his mouth goes dry at the realization that Spy is getting off on this, on Engineer’s eyes and Engineer’s voice.

Save for the balaclava, the gloves are the last thing to go, dropping to the floor with a soft slap.

Spy projects an easy confidence even when standing naked before Engineer. There’s a long, pale scar that clings to the side of his ribcage, and a smaller, but more vicious-looking one above his hipbone, others scattered along his side. The distinctive edge of a burn scar licks around his shoulder, disappearing into the line of his back, and Engineer just wants to trace its line with his mouth and feel smooth skin and tough, raised patches alike against his lips.

He’s a bit at a loss, to be honest. There’s no instinct to ride, fuelled by touch and heat, only careful, deliberate words, but he falls back on the simple desire to get Spy closer to him. “Hey, you’d best get into bed, at least. Can’t be comfortable standin’ on a cold floor in bare feet.”

Spy chuckles. “So solicitous, mon cher.” Spy kneels over his lap, and Engineer’s all of a sudden conscious of the way that Spy is very, very naked, while he’s goggles and a hardhat away from his full gear.

“Would you like me to touch myself? My neck, my chest? My legs? My cock?” Spy’s voice is a low murmur in his ear, the implication clear: where do you want to touch me? Where would you touch me, if you could?

The room’s dark, and he’s grateful for that, because he can feel his face blushing hotly. He usually wouldn’t do anything like this—he’s always been pretty quiet during sex, breath and moans enough for him. He leans his head in, his voice low by Spy’s ear. “Run your hand down your chest—slowly now, ain’t no rush.”

He’s close enough to hear Spy inhale sharply, though nothing shows on his face. “You are sadly lacking in imagination, Engineer,” he says, his voice smooth and teasing as usual. But, he’s also dragging his hand down his chest, stopping only when Engineer says “Stop,” as Spy’s hand reaches his hipbone.

“Don’t you go no lower for now,” Engineer says. His voice is hoarse, and he can’t seem to get it to work quite right.

Spy raises an eyebrow at him, but stills, his hand making small circles in the hollow of his hipbone. He wiggles a little, smirking at Engineer and bringing his other hand up to circle around his nipple. “Higher is fair game, non?” he says, looking Engineer right in the eye. Being deliberately provocative.

Engineer manages to croak out “Yeah, that’s all right,” and Spy smooths his hand up the supple curve of his neck as he tilts his head back, his back arching.

Engineer can feel his breath catch when Spy’s fingers slip into his own mouth, moaning theatrically around them, his eyes slipping shut. Spy’s fingers leave a glistening trail down his throat when he trails them down again to his chest.

He undoes the buckles on his overalls and tugs off his glove, trying to distract his hands to keep them from reaching out to touch Spy. He automatically reaches down just to cup himself, but Spy’s eyes snap open. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. After all, it’s only fair, yes?” he says with a playful edge to his voice.

Engineer groans, but he complies, fisting his hand in the bedsheets. Spy hums approvingly. “Very good. Go on, now, tell me what you would do.” He hears the sheets rustle against each other, and he can feel Spy at his shoulder, his breath harsh against his ear. “Let me give you an example, yes?”

Engineer swallows and nods.

“I would kiss your neck here—“ The barest breath over the vein on the side of his neck. “—and here—“ The warmth of fingers at the back of his neck, along the edge of his hair line. “—and then lower.” The ghost of a finger tracing down his back, along his spine.

It’s all so very, very careful, their hands precise and slow to try and keep them from sinking through each other’s skin. And Engineer doesn’t want careful—he wants to push Spy against the wall and pull that ever-present smirk off his face; he wants to kiss him, sloppy and wet, to press bruises into his skin, to bite down on the muscle of his shoulder. Most of all, he just wants to feel his skin, the muscles shifting underneath, the strong lines of his bones.

He shivers, sharp and sudden. “That’s all very nice, yeah, but I think I’d rather focus on tellin’ ya what I’d like to see now, if you don’t mind.”

Spy raises his eyebrows, looking slightly miffed. “Well then, be my guest. Not much of a romantic, are you, mon cher?”

“Think I’d call it practical, really. Slick your fingers again, Spy,” he says hoarsely. Spy raises an eyebrow at him again and complies, slipping his fingers into his mouth. “Think you know what I’m going to ask, right.”

“Perhaps,” Spy says, bracing himself with a hand against the wall. “But I would like to hear you say it nonetheless.”

Engineer smirks at him and leans forward just the slightest bit more, so he knows Spy can feel his breath over his ear. “Would you kindly finger yourself for me, Spy?” he says, his heart beating a tattoo in his chest. “Just start with one, slow ‘n careful, but two or three would be awful nice, eventually.”

He’s close enough to hear the gasp that Spy lets slip. For a moment, Spy leans in towards him, reaching for a kiss, before he stops and simply looks at Engineer, panting a bit. “I—I believe I could indulge you in that regard, monsieur.”

“That’s awfully kind of ya,” Engineer says, smiling.

He can see the tendons shift in Spy’s arm as he works a finger into himself, the rise of his chest when his breath hitches. When Spy starts to move, Engineer has to twist his hands in the bed sheets, because all he wants is to grip Spy’s hips, to stroke a hand down his arched back and to feel Spy’s body stretched around his own fingers.

Spy’s thighs tremble slightly where they straddle Engineer’s lap when Engineer asks in a hushed voice if he’d be ready for a second finger.

“Would d’ya care to lie down, Spy? More comfortable for you, I’d imagine,” Engineer asks, soft against his ear. There’s something about falling back on courtesy—a way of expressing something that would usually come through soft touches and kisses or a steadying hand.

Spy nods, withdrawing for enough time to drape himself down on the bed, smiling when Engineer slides down next to him and leans in for another near-kiss, breath brushing over each others’ lips. “You know, if you wanted a better view, you could have just said so, Engineer,” Spy says.

“Nah, ‘s not that,” he says, and pauses to inhale sharply when he sees Spy slip two fingers back into himself and press a moan into the bed sheets. “Well, not all that.”

Spy lets out a breathless laugh at that, moving back onto his own fingers in a steady rhythm, his body taut with want.

“You look real nice like this, ya know,” Engineer says, all breath, his hands clenching in the sheets to keep himself from touching himself, from touching Spy. “Stroke yourself—nice and slow.”

“I admit I didn’t quite expect this much from you, Engineer,” Spy says with a gasp. He’s smirking at Engineer—but that smirk has soft edges and half-lidded eyes, and that, more than anything, makes Engineer swallow hard.

Even with the expanse of skin close to his, Engineer can’t help but notice the dark smudges of Spy’s lashes when his eyes droop shut as he strokes himself again at Engineer’s word. It makes him want to pass a thumb over the thin skin under his closed eyes; there’s the barest hint of darker circles there, familiar reminders of late nights over books and blueprints. It’s beautifully real, and Engineer can’t help but smile.

“I—I think you should touch yourself now, mon cher,” Spy says with a heated, unfocused glance down his body. Engineer’s tempted to hold out for a “please,” but he’s honestly too far gone for that. There’s Spy writhing inches away from his hands, all hot skin and breath, anchored to reality by Engineer’s words, and it’s at once too much and not enough.

When he finally, finally wraps a hand around his cock, his eyes drifting shut, Engineer knows that his fingers are not long enough, that the calluses on his palm should be softened by leather gloves, that the grip is all wrong, but Engineer leaves his eyes closed for a bit longer, holding on to the image of Spy touching him.

“ _Look_ at me, Engineer,” Spy says.

His voice is low and wrecked, but still infuriatingly confident. Engineer moans and cracks his eyes open, in time to see Spy lick a slick line up his palm before trailing that hand down his chest and wrapping it around his cock with a long, slow stroke, just the way that Engineer had requested before.

Engineer swallows. “Faster.”

Spy groans and complies, his hand working smoothly on his cock as Engineer stares, completely unable to tear his eyes away. He crawls closer to Spy, taking a deep breath and leaning over him, whispering into his ear—nonsense, mostly, insults and endearments all mixed up and pouring out his lips, with the low, repeating mantra of “god, god, I wanna touch you so bad,” and somewhere in there, the barest breath saying, “go ‘head and come for me, darlin’, come on, please.”

Spy turns his head with a gasp, pressing his wrist to his open mouth, and does. And that’s all it takes.

 

Afterwards, they lie beside each other under the covers, close enough to feel the warmth coming off of each others’ skin.

Engineer reaches out across the mattress, an axis to the curving asymptote of Spy’s spine. “Hey,” he says, his voice soft.

Spy turns towards him, blowing out a puff of smoke and stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray on the bed table. For once, he doesn’t say a word. He stretches out an arm to meet Engineer’s own, and their hands fall into other, fingers curling around their palms.

 

Eventually, Engineer finds himself back on the train, faded red and blue buildings receding in the distance. The same beat-up little suitcase rests at his feet, the clasp now fixed.

There’s the touch of two fingers to his wrist, tentative and light, before it withdraws. He takes a breath and tries not to shiver as he feels Spy sit down beside him, his leg brushing against his own.

“I never did shake your hand properly, did I, mon cher?” Spy says after a few moments.

And Engineer reaches out and shakes his hand, simple as that.

Spy’s got a good handshake, solid and confident. His hand is gloveless, and Engineer can feel the bumps of his knuckles, the long bones of his fingers, the tips of his neatly-trimmed nails, the slightest bit of sweat in the hollow of his palm, the pad of his thumb stroking over the back of his hand. They both hold on to the handshake a little longer than usual, skin against skin, the warm weight of their hands resting on Engineer’s knee.

When Spy moves to let go, Engineer pulls him forward and kisses him silly. It’s warm, wondrous, and so lovely—and he can feel Spy smiling against his lips.


End file.
